Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
by Lindelea1
Summary: While in Minas Tirith after the end of the War of the Ring, surely the hobbits were showered with presents from a grateful populace, or at least the people tried to shower them with presents. This is the story of one awkward but lovable gift, and a unique solution to the problem.
1. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

_Note to Readers: Please bear with me as I learn this interface. It's been a long time since I've published on this archive. If this story works, there will be others added as well._

In remembrance of Zoe, a pony-sized pup who gave us seven years of love and joy.

This is not a sad story, for Zoe never wanted to see us sad, but when she sensed that all was not well, she would clown and cuddle and snuggle and even lick away tears when it became necessary. No, I've tried to write as light and comical as Zoe herself, with some of her warm snuggliness thrown in here and there for good measure.

Our friends are still talking about how fierce she was, throwing her not-inconsiderable bulk against the door when someone knocked, while barking furiously - and then once you were admitted to the inner circle by being invited over the threshold, she tried to convince you that she was a lapdog. A nearly-100-pound lapdog, but a lapdog nevertheless.

They also like to laugh about how she'd sit on the couch "just like a person". (Well, she thought she was.) She was large enough that she could just back up to the couch and sit down. Not a few visitors were startled by a large dog sitting herself down on the couch (feet still on the floor!) and looking over companionably as if to ask about the latest gossip.

She was also the sneakiest thief I've ever known. Imagine the meat, gone from the middle of a sandwich, without any disturbance of the bread on top or bottom.

She absolutely adored Larner's dogs. I'm not sure the feeling was mutual... (sort of like an Ent trying to befriend a hobbit, I should think)

First chapter was published some years ago as a stand-alone story, inspired by Zoe's coming into our family, but the story begged a "what came after" and, in reflecting on Zoe's life (and "Zoe" means "life" in Greek), a bit more came to me.

Love you, Jo-Jo. Miss you.

~ + x - x + ~

Dreamflower has been posting a delightful series of chapters on Shire etiquette, as penned by Bilbo's very well-informed relative Miss Dora Baggins. A recent chapter on "The Giving of Gifts" sparked this bit of whimsy. Thanks, Dreamflower, for the spark of inspiration and for looking this over before it was posted!

To quote:

_And yet, I may pause here to say a Word on the Receiving of Gifts: a Gift is never to be turned away, whatever the reason. It is a Most Offensive Insult to Refuse a Gift! _

**Chapter 1. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie**

'What is it?' Frodo said, eyeing the furry mountain all but dwarfing his young cousin. 'Some sort of lap robe?'

'It's a puppy!' Pippin said, his tone indignant. 'Really, Frodo, I should think that you of all people would know a puppy when you see one!'

'Looks more like a young Oliphaunt to me,' Merry said aside.

'A very hairy Oliphaunt,' Frodo agreed.

Pippin's face was turning red, but he managed an even tone—one of the signs that he'd matured over the past half-year or so—even though the space between his words gave evidence of his perturbation. 'It—is—a—puppy!' he said.

'A very large puppy,' Merry said, and couldn't resist adding, 'Are you sure it's not a pony, by chance?'

'Merry, I should think you of all people should recognise the difference between a pony and a puppy,' Pippin said severely, but Frodo interrupted, for he'd moved in order to be able to eye the bundle of fur from another angle.

'From the size of those feet, it'll be as large as a pony when it's grown.'

'Then Pip can ride him home!' Merry said with a shout, while Sam, fussing over the tea tray, fixing a plate to tempt Mr. Frodo's appetite, accompanied by the perfect cup of tea, paused in dismay.

'I do hope we don't have to wait until he grows up, before we're on our way home again!' he muttered. Far be it from him to join in the conversation with his betters, here in the privacy of the guest-house, where people weren't falling all over themselves to bow down to him and call him "my Lord" and all sort of uncomfortable things.

But Merry heard, and turned around to advance on the tea tray, with a slap of approval for the gardener's shoulder. 'Well spoken, Sam!' he said. 'Worth saying twice!'

And when Sam blushed and shook his head, Merry repeated the sentiment for him. 'I hope we don't have to wait until he grows up! From the look of him, he's just left his mum, hasn't he? He's much too young to be walking the length of Middle-earth, and much too big to carry!'

The pup under discussion raised a sleepy head and yawned, disclosing long, needle-sharp milk teeth. By hobbit standards, these might have made fine daggers or ice picks.

Frodo, though he did not fear dogs as a rule, was reminded of Farmer Maggot's enormous brutes, and he shuddered.

'But you're taking cold, cousin,' Pippin said, struggling a little against the weight that pinned him to the floor. 'You ought to cuddle up with Mittens, here.'

'Mittens!' Merry said in astonishment. One of his aunts had had a cat by that name, a small, tidy, white-pawed, engaging creature that purred whenever someone glanced in its direction. 'What sort of name is that? This beast ought to bear a name like "Wolf", or "Fang", or...'

'Oliphaunt!' Frodo said, accepting the cup of tea Sam brought him with a grateful look. 'Mmm, just right, Sam, thank you.'

'Plenty more where that came from,' Sam said stoutly, going back to the tea tray. 'The teapots they have here are enormous, as you know, Mr. Frodo! Even cosied, I'm not sure we'll be able to finish it all before it goes cold.'

'Well then, we had better get to work,' Merry said, lifting the heavy pot with a grimace. Sam hurried to help him, and together they managed to pour out three more cups, lightening the pot appreciably. The cups, too, were man-sized, after all.

'You know how Paladin is,' Frodo went on. 'He has no use for pets... every creature on the farm must earn its keep. He doesn't want any useless animals, eating their heads off...' he gave the "puppy" a considering look. 'And this one looks as if he'd eat quite a bit, given half a chance.'

'He could herd sheep,' Merry said, and then put his cup down as he was convulsed with laughter at the image that rose in his mind. 'The poor things would be so petrified at his appearance, they'd bunch together and never scatter nor wander.'

'They'd probably die of fright at first glimpse,' Frodo amended. He sat himself down on the other end of the hearthrug to enjoy the cheery blaze on the hearth, set his teacup down on the floor beside him and accepted the plate that Sam laid in his lap. 'My,' he said. 'Look at that! Fresh fruit! Strawberries! Where do you think it all came from?'

'Sunlands, Mr. Frodo, those melons; and the strawberries are from Lossarnach,' Sam said. 'You ought to see all the new things on offer in the market now! Minas Tirith is no longer living off stores. The siege is well and truly over with, and there's plenty of food now, and no more soldier's rations.'

'The siege _ought_ to be over by now,' Frodo said. 'We've been here a month, already.'

'Has it been a whole month?' Merry cried. He went over to the bench by the window. It was a simple matter to climb up on the child's footstool that Bergil had found for them, and from there up on to the window-seat, where he stood peering out. 'The window boxes are blooming!' he said.

Sam nodded. He'd noticed that fact a day or two earlier. Spring, although belated, was in full force in Minas Tirith and surroundings. The Pelennor was green, except for a black patch, and farmers were in the field from before sunrise until dusk, and the stone window boxes were covered in green, with bright colours peeping out as the plants began to blossom. A late blossoming it might have been, but the people of the City rejoiced in the blooms.

'In any event,' Frodo said, returning to the subject at hand, 'you cannot keep this enormous monster, Pippin. It's just not practical.'

Pippin's flush grew brighter, and he swallowed hard. In truth, he found the "puppy" rather difficult to manage, it weighing quite as much as he did despite its infant state. When he'd sat himself down on the hearthrug, after coming off duty, the puppy had happily bounced over to him and flopped itself down in his lap... or rather, all over his legs, nearly flattening him, and proceeded to fall asleep after a tail wag or two. He could not imagine what he'd do if the dog grew bigger—as it inevitably would.

'I don't really want to keep him,' he said, though his hand went out to rub at a blanket-sized ear when the pup put its head down again with a sleepy sigh. The tail thumped again, briefly, before the snoring recommenced. 'He's not all that practical, I know, but...'

'But what?' Merry wanted to know.

'But he was a gift!' Pippin said miserably. 'I _have_ to keep him!'

Merry's jaw fell open, and he exchanged glances with Frodo. 'I never thought of that!' he said. 'O Pip, why didn't you say so in the first place?'

'I thought, perhaps, he followed you home,' Frodo said. 'I remember the last dog that followed you home, and you asking your da if you could keep him...'

'I was only sixteen at the time,' Pippin said, balancing the plate Sam gave him on the hairy back, where it stood at eye-level. 'And you have to admit, it was a winsome creature.'

Pippin had a way with dogs, it must be said. One of his firmest friends in his early years had been an old sheepdog that followed him everywhere when the dog wasn't following the sheep. The dog had been Pippin's devoted slave, though it towered above him. Frodo had found it difficult not to laugh, to see the tiny hobbit order the dog to sit, and then lie down, and then get up and fetch a thrown stick, and then lie down again, for the enormous creature would obey every command instantly and with great enthusiasm, watching the young tyrant with adoring eyes.

The "winsome creature" had been a large, hairy and ferocious-looking mutt that might have been twin to one of Farmer Maggot's dogs.

Paladin had persuaded his son to give the stray to a neighbouring widow, to scare away any tramping Men, who were being seen more frequently than before.

'In any event, you're saying this Oliphaunt was a gift?' Merry said. He rolled his eyes and put a dramatic hand to his forehead. 'What, Frodo, are we ever going to do? You know what Miss Dora Baggins always said...'

And the four hobbits all quoted together in the same breath, '...A Gift is never to be turned away, whatever the reason! It is a Most Offensive Insult to Refuse a Gift!'

'Yes, but she also said that it was unkind to give an inappropriate gift,' Frodo added. He set his plate aside—only half cleared, Sam saw to his regret—and arose with a brisk air. 'As head of the family, I'll handle the matter, Pippin. Don't worry. All will be well.'

'How?' Pippin said, trying ineffectually to rise, but alas, he was firmly pinned to the floor for the duration of the pup's nap. He'd heard that puppies sleep twenty-three out of twenty-four hours, and so he was wondering, dully, if he'd be found in dereliction of his duty on the morrow, having spent the night trapped under this furry mountain, and possibly most of the morning, even into the afternoon, up until an hour before teatime, anyhow...

'I'm going to take a page out of Paladin's book,' Frodo said, and dusting his hands, he turned to Samwise. 'Thank you, Sam, for a delicious tea. Put my plate up, will you? I wouldn't want the babe to finish it off and upset his "little" tummy... besides which, I might feel a bit peckish when I return.'

'I'll be happy to, Mr. Frodo,' Sam said, putting his own plate aside long enough to pick up Mr. Frodo's plate. Looking around, he thought the table with its sawed-off legs rather an insufficient refuge, for the pup, standing, would tower above its surface. He settled for the window-seat, and then climbing down off the footstool hastened to his own plate, to secure it as well; but Frodo ordered him to "stay and eat and keep an eye on our two young charges," and Merry elected to go along and keep Frodo out of trouble.

And so Sam found himself sitting down again, to finish his interrupted tea.


	2. Chapter 2 A Fruitless Search

**Chapter 2. A Fruitless Search**

'But Beregond,' Frodo said in his most reasonable tone. '_Surely_ you can tell me who gave the pup to Pip?'

'Gave the pup to Pip,' Merry said. He could see that Frodo was tiring, having talked to nearly a dozen guardsmen without result. 'That's got a kind of ring to it, Frodo. P'rhaps you ought to write that one down.'

Frodo gave his younger cousin a pained look. 'Merry,' he began.

'As I said, two guardsmen ago, I think we ought to put our inquiries off until the morrow,' Merry said. 'I've about walked my toes off, going from place to place in search of all the guardsmen in Pippin's Company, and…'

'And half of them are on leave,' Beregond put in helpfully.

'We wouldn't be concerned with those in any event,' Frodo said, relieved at eliminating so many possible leads at once. 'Pippin was only given the pup this morning.'

'And the half that are on leave, took their leave just after nuncheon,' Beregond said. 'A number of them would be miles away by now, but I'm sorry on your account to say that they were all here this morning.'

'Miles away?' Frodo said faintly, in wonder. 'Don't they live in the City?'

Beregond smiled. 'My own father lives in Lossarnoch,' he said, 'and if I were allowed to leave the City, I would take my son there to see his grandfather, and I…' he hesitated, and swallowed hard before ploughing on bravely, in a wistful tone, 'I should like to see him again, once more.'

Merry blinked at this reminder that Beregond was a Man marked for death. By tradition, leaving his post during battle carried the penalty of death, as well as his other actions in his desperate fight to save his Captain, Faramir. He waited only to stand before the King, to hear his doom pronounced and to have it carried out. But Elessar was busy with many matters, and so Beregond lived on, at least for a time.

'I understand,' Frodo said gently, placing a hand on the guardsman's arm. Beregond stood a little straighter, as if taking strength from the contact.

'I thank you,' he said with a bow. 'I wish I could be of more aid, but…'

'It is of no matter,' Frodo said firmly. 'We hobbits are in want of a little exercise, as it is…'

Merry refrained from rolling his eyes at this, though he really wanted to. Hadn't he just said his toes were wearing out? Well, they might not be, but he did worry that Frodo might be overextending himself in this search, just a bit.

'They keep putting more and more food before us,' Frodo went on, 'why, it's more than even _Pippin _can eat.'

'I don't know about that,' Merry said under his breath. 'He can eat quite a lot!'

Beregond heard this, however, and laughed. 'That he can!' he said. 'Enough for any four Men of my acquaintance, or more!'

'He is a growing tween, after all,' Frodo said in his young cousin's defence. 'And he's been healing of his injuries since the battle before the Black Gate! Though he seems completely healed – it has been a month – it takes time for a body to replenish its energies after being laid so low as he was.'

_You might speak for yourself, cousin,_ Merry thought, but he knew it would distress Frodo for him to say so aloud, especially in front of another.

'Don't I know it?' Beregond said, gesturing to the sling that still cradled his arm. 'I wish that _my_ healing could proceed as quickly as a hobbit's, even should I have to take in extra food for it to work that way.'

Merry was suddenly curious. 'Have you tried?' he said frankly, looking the guardsman up and down.

Beregond laughed again. 'Hah!' he said. 'I assure you, Master Hobbit, that if I were to eat as much as your cousin, I should certainly grow – only it wouldn't be new bone, blood, and muscle to replace what was damaged! No, but I should outgrow my mail, for certain!'

The hobbits laughed with him, but then Frodo was all business once more. 'Can you suggest others we might talk with?' he said. 'I do need to find out where this pup came from.'

Beregond scratched his head. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, considering his words carefully, lest he seem to insult the Ringbearer by stating the obvious. 'But doesn't Peregrin know where the pup came from? Was the giver a stranger to him?'

Frodo gave a small, diffident cough. 'Forgive me, Beregond,' he said. 'You have my pardon, though I ought not have put you into a position to ask it, in the first place.' He cocked his head to one side, looking up at the tall Man. 'You see, it has to do with Shire custom, and what is thought proper and polite amongst our people.'

The hobbits were not surprised to see a sudden eagerness light the Man's face; he'd been curious about other lands and peoples since their first acquaintance – indeed, since Pippin's first meeting – with him. 'I would greatly desire to hear more,' he said. Glancing at the angle of the sun, he added, 'I have an hour more, before I must report to the Houses of Healing, where I am expected.' And he moved his injured arm, as if to illustrate his words.

'Come,' Merry said, 'let us buy you a mug of something – there's an inn just up the street…' And he persuaded Beregond and Frodo to follow him, and in due course the hobbits were perched on cushions on a bench, and Beregond on the facing bench, with mugs of beer in front of them. These had appeared quickly, and the innkeeper had insisted that there was no charge for them.

It was quite convenient to be a Halfling in Minas Tirith in those days.

In any event, they sat and talked contentedly for the next half hour or so. The hobbits told Beregond (and several other fascinated listeners, including the innkeeper, who hovered, and poured more into their mugs whenever the level dropped perceptibly) all about Shire customs regarding the giving of gifts.

At last Beregond understood. 'And so you wish to find out just who it was who gave the pup to Sir Peregrin,' he said.

'Yes, and we want to do it _quietly_, so that he doesn't suffer the embarrassment of appearing ungrateful,' Frodo said. 'Just a few discreet enquiries, you see, and spirit the pup off…'

'You'd have to allow Pip to say goodbye,' Merry said. 'He'd be quite put out if you didn't.'

'The whole idea is to avoid hurt,' Frodo returned. 'Of course he'd be able to say goodbye. We wouldn't tell him where the pup was going (such a disgrace! …to give a gift back to the giver!) but only that we'd found a good home for it.'

'But why not simply do that?' Beregond asked, sipping at his beer without much affecting the level. He didn't want to show up at the Houses of Healing in his cups, after all.

'Simply do what?' Merry asked. 'I don't follow you.' It is possible that his head was growing slightly muddled, as he was not being as careful as the Man about certain things.

'Simply find a good home for the beast,' Beregond said. 'Didn't you say that your people have a habit of… what did you call it? Mathoms? You take a gift and keep it for a while and then give it as a gift to someone else?'

'Beregond, you are brilliant!' Merry said enthusiastically. 'Honestly, cousin, why did we not think of that? And _we_, the Shirefolk! It took a Man of Gondor to present a solution!'

Frodo smiled and shook his head. 'I see only one problem,' he said.

'And that is…?' Merry wanted to know. The more of this fine brew he took in, the fewer the problems he could see.

'Who in his right mind would want a pup the size of a pony who likely eats as much as an Oliphaunt?'

'At least it's a cute pup,' Merry said. 'Very winsome and sweet.'

'I think we'll keep asking the guardsmen,' Frodo said. 'At least, until we run out of guardsmen to ask.' He took a swallow from his own mug. 'Pip _did_ say that he was with a guardsman when the pup was presented to him... or that a guardsman helped him to bring the pup home, when the "little" fellow grew sleepy... or something to that effect.'

Merry sighed, and set forth to fortify himself further for the endeavour. 'And _then_ we can go back to the guest house and finish our tea? Or perhaps I ought to say "eventides" for it _will_ be eventides by the time we return, at this rate!'

Frodo considered. 'Well if half the Company is on leave,' he said, 'we don't have all that many left to question.' He saw the look on Merry's face and relented. 'Very well, cousin, if we're not finished by eventides, we'll call off the remainder of the search until tomorrow.'

~ + x - x + ~

'Fruitless?' Sam said, overjoyed to hear his beloved Mr. Frodo speaking of food – perhaps his Master's efforts had improved his appetite. 'No, of course we're not fruitless! Why, we've strawberries, and melon, or had you forgotten?'


End file.
